


Guide

by Royal_Prussian_Fox



Series: Path Actions [3]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Friendship, Gen, Oh wait, Ophilia has the patience of a saint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 03:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Prussian_Fox/pseuds/Royal_Prussian_Fox
Summary: Even those who have already reached their destinations are sometimes in need of a guide.





	Guide

**Author's Note:**

> More Octopath Traveler fic? More Octopath Traveler fic.
> 
> There are some oblique references to some characters' chapter fours, as well as a pair of post-game sidequests (including, uh... you know the one). I don't think it's really noticeable unless you've played through them, but fair warning anyway. ...Now that I think about it, it's been almost two months since the game came out. Are spoiler warning tags still necessary? Hm. HMMMMMMMM
> 
> Comments always appreciated.

"Have you seen Sir Olberic, perchance?"

Ophilia looked up from her book. Cyrus stood above her, eyebrows furrowed and face drawn.

"Last I heard, he and H'aanit had stepped out of town to spar," Ophilia told him. "Why? Is something the matter?"

Cyrus stared hard out the window. Ophilia followed his gaze, to where the setting sun sat over the horizon, bathing the ocean and the city of Grandport in orange light. Even from inside the inn, the squawking of gulls was clear, and Ophilia could not help but be struck once again by how very far from Flamesgrace she was — how far she was, that the birdcalls were those of seagulls riding the ocean waves, and not the chittering of the ptarmigans peeking out from behind snow-covered boughs.

Cyrus finally bestirred himself to speak. "No… nothing is the matter, _per_ _se_."

"But there is something you would ask of him," Ophilia prompted.

"Yes. Just so," Cyrus murmured, turning toward her momentarily, before returning his eyes to the window, as if expecting to see something.

"Professor Albright. If you wish for help, you need but request it."

Cyrus glanced toward her briefly. "Hm. Yes. Perhaps. It may be trivial. I would wait for him to return. However…"

Cyrus trailed off, attention once again focused out the window. Ophilia waited.

"I am anticipating the delivery of a large collection of books from the Wyndham estate. A number of them discuss the Kingdom of Hornburg. Accordingly, I had imagined that Sir Olberic's personal knowledge might help expedite my understanding of their contents. However, this collection is exceedingly rare, and even more exceedingly expensive. The books will arrive soon, and when they do, I must be on hand to verify their delivery."

Ophilia placed a bookmark in between the pages and set the book aside. "Is that all? Then I will retrieve Sir Olberic in your stead."

"You would?" Cyrus asked, attempting to sound concerned instead of enthused, and failing utterly.

"Of course," Ophilia said, getting up from the couch with a stretch. "It is high time I get out into the city myself. Rare is the opportunity to travel from Flamesgrace, and I cannot enjoy the sights and smell of the sea from indoors."

"Indeed, I would imagine most would rather spend their time among the people than among the books," Cyrus affirmed, continuing his windowside vigil. His face brightened. "Oh! I do believe I see the book carriage. Please permit me to excuse myself. I should like to examine them posthaste," Cyrus said, and hastened out the front of the inn.

Finding Olberic and H'aanit was a simple matter of asking the nearest passerby whether she had seen a snow leopard. And why yes she had, gone to the west, it did, now wasn't that a sight, to see a snow leopard in the Coastlands, it was unheard of, thought it'd pounce upon her with nary a second thought, but blessings be to Aelfric, the monster'd just gone on past, wasn't that the strangest thing, why nothing else had been so strange, wouldn't Ophilia have to agree; and after a long while Ophilia finally managed to excuse herself and make her way west along the crags, until over the crashing of waves against rock, Ophilia heard the crashing of metal against metal.

Between the parting of rocks, a spit jutted out into the sea, and on one end stood H'aanit, and on the other stood Olberic. Ophilia had only a moment to look on before H'aanit leaped toward Olberic, thrusting her axe at him. He grunted, and with a shield that stood as tall as he was, drove H'aanit back. She tumbled onto the sand, tucked herself into a backward roll, and was instantly on her feet again. She readied her axe. Olberic readied his shield.

"Grr-rawr."

Linde bunted her head against the back of Ophilia's leg. She sat down on her haunches, within easy reach of Ophilia's hand. Her eyes looked up at Ophilia, expectantly. Her tail flicked back and forth, expectantly. She chuffed, expectantly.

"You need but ask," Ophilia said with a smile, and leaned down to scratch Linde's head. Linde leaned into her hand. She let out an appreciative growl, low and rumbling and content, and loud enough to be heard even over the clashing and crashing of H'aanit and Olberic's duel. "Does it feel good?"

Linde craned her head closer.

"I guess it does," Ophilia laughed. "Does H'aanit know that you make us spoil you so?"

Linde opened her eyes to look at Ophilia, briefly. She snorted, as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous."

"Fine. It is our little secret, then."

"Rawr."

In front of them, H'aanit attempted to catch Olberic off-guard with a rear attack. Olberic was having none of it: his shield was trained on H'aanit with every move she made, refusing to yield.

"Have Sir Olberic and H'aanit been dueling one another all this time?"

Linde growled what sounded like an affirmative — whether that was for Ophilia's question or for Ophilia's head scratches, Ophilia could not tell. Perhaps both.

"That is quite the long time for neither to have the advantage of the other."

H'aanit rushed forward for an attack, but Olberic swung around and covered his flank with a spear; H'aanit strafed to the left at the last moment, but her swing of the axe was ably blocked by Olberic's shield.

"It is interesting. H'aanit and Sir Olberic have such different battle styles, and yet they manage to be an even match for one another."

Linde rubbed at Ophilia's hand, all but asking Ophilia to resume petting.

"I apologize, Linde," Ophilia said. "But you would have me scratch your head all day."

Linde looked up at Ophilia with round, doe eyes.

Ophilia shook her head. "Such tactics will not work on me."

Linde huffed.

"Why do you not ask H'aanit?"

Linde huffed again. Her tail flicked in the direction of the duel, where H'aanit had traded her axe for a bow and Olberic had raised his shield in preparation.

"Well, if that is all that is the matter, then perhaps I can be of help? I have come to retrieve Sir Olberic, after all."

Linde snorted. She stood, stretched, then shook herself. She padded down the strip of sand, heedless of H'aanit and Olberic's battle, and just as H'aanit had nocked her arrow and Olberic had disappeared behind his shield, Linde stepped right in between them, and sat.

"Rawr."

H'aanit peered at Linde from behind her bow. Olberic peered at Linde from behind his shield.

"Rawr," Linde said, again. She turned to look at Ophilia. H'aanit and Olberic followed.

Ophilia gave a slight wave. "Pardon my intrusion."

The tension immediately left H'aanit's body. "Nay, thou dost not intrude in the slightest," she said, returning her arrow to its quiver. "I must needs compliment thee, in truth. Mine intent was such that thine approach escapede my notice."

"I need no such praise," Ophilia reassured her. "Sir Olberic is an opponent worth one's full attention, I am sure."

"Verily so," H'aanit agreed. Olberic hefted his shield up from the ground and followed after her. "Unbending doth not merely describe the blade only, but the shield in equal part."

"I am heartened that my skills have not rusted," Olberic answered. "But 'tis a greater honor that such words come from a warrior of your caliber."

"Thou art my superior in combat. Thou hast every right to feel prideful of thy talent."

"The sandy terrain advantaged me today. Were we to duel elsewhere, I daresay victory would prove far more elusive."

"Can we not agree that the two of you are both skilled in combat?" Ophilia said. "And of course, Linde is skilled as well."

Linde began to purr.

"Yes, thou too hast every right to feel prideful," H'aanit smiled, patting Linde's head. She turned to Ophilia. "But surely thou doth not wish to listenen to idle chatter. Unless thou art come to trainen thyself?"

"Oh, no. I am not prepared for that today," Ophilia laughed. "I only have a message for Sir Olberic."

Olberic wiped the sweat from his forehead with his free arm. He furrowed his brow. "Does someone have need of me?"

"It is nothing urgent. It is only that Professor Albright is to receive a large collection of books regarding the Kingdom of Hornburg. I believe he might appreciate having your assistance in deciphering them."

Olberic nodded. "And so he has it. It would please me to be of some small measure of service."

"I am sure he will be equally pleased to receive it," Ophilia said. "I have not seen anyone as dedicated to study as he."

"Nor I," Olberic agreed. "And he seems to be even more dedicated, of late."

"You believe so?"

Olberic shook his head. "No, it is not my place to say. At any rate, I am better able to read a man's blade than his mind."

H'aanit spoke up. "Forgiven me mine own observation. But hath not Cyrus appeared more… Hm. How shalle I say?"

"Rawr."

"Yes. Single-minded, mayhap."

Ophilia considered the sand beneath her feet. "He has been rather fixated on his studies, recently. Then again, he has always been fixated on whatever catches his interest. I need not remind you of the incident in the market."

"I cannot imagine a more memorable first introduction," Olberic said, smiling half in amusement and half in embarrassment.

"Oh? I have not heard tell of such a story afore."

Linde darted out in front of Ophilia, down the road to Grandport, shadowed by the setting sun. She growled and pawed at the ground eagerly.

"But methinks Linde hath suffered us with great patience. She is eager to returnen to Grandport."

"Then we shall tell the story on the way," Ophilia said, following after Linde. Olberic and H'aanit fell into step beside her, the sun behind them, the four of them walking into dusk. "Who should like to begin, Sir Olberic? You or I?"

"My training is with a sword, not with words," Olberic demurred. "I am sure you can tell it better than I."

H'aanit smiled knowingly. "Doth the tale change much with the teller?"

"It may, but only just," Ophilia smiled back. "Now, let me see. We first met Professor Albright…"

* * *

Ophilia knelt. She made the sign of Aelfric upon her breast. She clasped her hands. She prayed.

Ophilia's robes rustled as she stood, and with her hands she dusted them and pressed away their creases. She turned at the entry and bowed toward the altar one last time before stepping outside and gently nudging the church door shut behind her.

The Order of the Flame cherished its three cathedrals, inspiring and solemn pillars of the faith that they were. And yet, the cathedrals, grand though they might be, numbered only three. The souls who deserved salvation numbered far greater. So Ophilia offered her prayers wherever she could, whether that was from an overlook gazing upon the great canyons of the Cliftlands, or from atop a rooftop in Sunshade as the first streaks of dawn stained the horizon.

And in Grandport, Ophilia prayed at the small church at land's end, where the sand met the sea. The church of the city was austere, but tidily kept, and even if it was nothing like the Great Cathedral of Flamesgrace, Ophilia believed it perfectly befitting of Grandport. For it sat at the rim of the continent, on the cusp of a world beyond, a world so much larger and infinite that even the bustle of Orsterra's largest port city was swallowed by the sea and by the sky.

"Ophilia?"

Ophilia turned. "Ah, Primrose. Good evening."

"It is indeed," Primrose agreed, standing at the shore where the sand was dark and damp. She had taken her sandals from her feet; they dangled from her fingers by the straps. Ophilia watched as a wave broke upon the shore and washed over Primrose's feet, and then was pulled back into the sea.

Ophilia made her way over to her, careful to stand where the water could not reach. "The ocean at night is wonderful, don't you think?"

The other woman nodded. She turned her gaze toward the water, watching it crest and break. "It is. I have never had occasion to spend much time in the Coastlands before. I had forgotten how vast the sea is."

"But it is, isn't it? Before I set out on the pilgrimage, I had read much of Goldshore. I turned the words over and over in my head, and before long I had painted a picture of Goldshore in my mind, and convinced myself that the city would look so," Ophilia recalled fondly. "It was only when I arrived that I realized how truly foolish I had been. The cathedral, the sky, the ocean most of all — they were all far more impressive than I could have ever imagined."

"Yes. There are some things in the world that words cannot adequately describe."

"Well said."

The two stood, watching the waves. In the twilight, the sea and sky blurred together as though joined. The seaside air was cool in the night, and the wind carried on its sails the rhythm of rolling waves. Behind them, the sounds of the city faded in and out, seeming to come from many miles away.

"I confess that I imagined you would rather be out enjoying the sights of the city with Alfyn and the others."

Primrose smiled, even as she continued gazing out upon the sea. "I might confess to the same."

"Oh, no," Ophilia laughed. "As much as I enjoy a night out on the town, I also find contentment in the more leisurely pastimes. It helps me put things into perspective, so I may see the world more clearly when I pray."

"When you pray?"

Ophilia turned toward the brick-built church, shadowed by the setting sun. "I have prayed for the people of every town I have had the good fortune of visiting, that they may find guidance through their struggles and happiness in their lives."

Primrose's eyes lingered on the church, above the doors, where a disc of stained glass was inset into the frame. "You are kind," she finally said.

"It is but a small gesture."

"Perhaps. But I am certain that your words bring them comfort, nonetheless."

"If that is so, then I am grateful. There is far too much sadness in this world."

Primrose turned back toward the ocean. "Far too much, indeed," she murmured, gazing back out to sea. The last traces of color were vanishing from the sky. From the heavens, points of light began to twinkle and flicker. Another wave washed upon the shore. Primrose did not move away from the onrush of water as it spread past her ankles, wiping away the footprints she had left in the sand.

"Is there something that troubles you?" Ophilia ventured to ask.

Primrose did not turn. "It is nothing. I do not wish to burden you."

"So it is not nothing."

Primrose turned to her, eyes dark. She smiled wanly. "It is only Doubt, he who is my most constant companion. But he has parted ways with me before. He will do so again."

"Doubt. A familiar figure indeed," Ophilia agreed.

"There is nothing I would have done differently. I have no regrets," Primrose murmured, nearly drowned out by the sounds of the sea. "And yet, there are still times when he creeps up to tell me that things should have been different."

Ophilia knelt down and removed her boots. She stepped forward. The sand was cool beneath her feet.

"Doubt is always there to whisper such things. I cannot deny that I, too, have felt his presence."

"A sister of the faith?"

"But what is faith without doubt? It would be like day without night. And on one occasion, when the night had grown darkest around me, I came across a passage in the holy book that gave me comfort. It has stayed with me ever since. Even now, when I am unsure of what I should do — of what I must do — it has long granted me the wisdom to see the path forward, and the strength to follow it."

Primrose had turned to gaze at the sea, her hair dancing in the breeze. Ophilia turned toward the sea, too. She watched the last of the sun vanish over the horizon.

"Perhaps it is a prayer with meaning for me alone. Perhaps it will not aid you in your struggle. That, I cannot say. However, if you wish it, I will say it."

The two of them stood in silence. "…I'd appreciate that," Primrose finally said.

Ophilia nodded. She pulled a string of well-worn prayer beads from her robe and allowed them to rest in her hand. She felt water rush over her feet. She closed her eyes. She prayed.

* * *

Ophilia heard Alfyn's voice as soon as she opened the tavern door.

"And that's why you always deliver your letters in person!" he shouted, voice ricocheting through the drunken carousing of the tavern. Ophilia peered through the crowds. At the far end of the room, Alfyn had his left hand wrapped around a thick brass mug; next to him, Therion and Tressa were listening, ears perked at attention like a pair of cats prepared to pounce on their prey.

"Oh, Sister Ophilia! Come join us!" Alfyn said with an unrestrained grin, waving his right hand in her direction. His left hand maintained its grip on his mug. "Lemme buy ya a round!"

"I appreciate your kind offer, Alfyn," Ophilia smiled. "However, as a cleric of the Sacred Flame, I have taken a vow to abstain from alcohol."

Alfyn's face fell, if only for a moment. "Shucks! I plumb forgot — I'm hopin' ya can forgive me for —"

"There is nothing to forgive," Ophilia reassured him. "May I take this seat?"

"Course! More's the merrier!" Alfyn declared. Therion and Tressa scuffed their chairs apart, allowing Ophilia room to sit between them. "Hey, you ain't seen Professor Albright, have you?"

Ophilia shook her head. "I have not."

"He said he was going to join us," Tressa pouted. "We were all going to try Grandport food together."

"Well, you know Professor Albright," Ophilia said. "He has probably lost himself in a book again."

"That's fine," Therion shrugged. "More for me."

"No way," Tressa protested. She pointed to Therion's edge of the table, where two mugs sat, empty. "You've already had two."

"So?"

"You have any more and you're gonna be feeding the fish."

Therion raised his eyebrows. He glanced at his two empty mugs. He glanced at Alfyn's five empty mugs. He glanced back at Tressa dubiously.

"Thank you for looking out for me," he said drily.

"You're welcome!"

Alfyn burst into laughter. "Tress, come on now. Ain't no good reason to get between a man and his mead. Well, 'cept if he's drunker than a keg mouse."

"A… keg mouse?" Ophilia wondered.

"Sure! See, round Clearbrook, we'd do our own brewin' and distillin' and whatnot. We got lotsa mice thereabouts, and they got a real sweet tooth like you ain't never seen. Well, guess what? There's heaps of sugar in that brew. And one morning, ol' Gertas goes to see how his wine's coming along, and what does he find but a whole nest of mice passed out on the floor, drunk off their little mouse tails!"

Tressa grinned. "I guess you could call it… a _mouse_ -acre!"

"Boy, he looked ready to have a conniption! He'd been brewing that batch for months, and had to throw it all out. Ain't no-one ever let him forget it, neither." Alfyn chuckled again and took another swig from his mug.

"We got a saying like that in Rippletide," Tressa added. "Drunker than a beer-battered butterfish. You can tell who's had too much 'cause they can't say it right."

"We thieves have a word for drunkards, too."

"Oh?" Tressa said. "What's that?"

"Jackpot."

Tressa glared at him.

"What? It's funny."

"Remind me to always count my drinks from now on," Alfyn grimaced, but not before downing the remainder of his ale. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then slid the empty mug next to the others, now numbering six in total.

Ophilia giggled. "I never imagined I would say this, but I find it charming that we can all hail from such disparate places and yet bond over a beverage."

"That's what alcohol's good for! Mind you, I say this as an apothecary. Too much'll leave your insides more gutted than a strung-up fish. But there ain't no grown man or grown woman nowhere that can't appreciate a good mug of mead."

Tressa eyed the empty mugs distastefully. "I still think it's nasty."

"Well. You're just not grown yet," Therion said. Tressa's glare now seemed permanently directed toward his face.

"I must confess that I have, from time to time, wondered what it would be like to partake," Ophilia said.

"Oh? Straying from the path?" Therion teased her.

Ophilia laughed lightly. "Gracious, no. I am content enough to keep the company of drunkards. I should not like to become one."

"You wound me, Sister," Therion said.

"The people of Flamesgrace are admirably dedicated to Aelfric's teachings," Ophilia continued. "And so there is only the one alehouse in all of Flamesgrace. Imagine my surprise when I first arrived in Bolderfall — there seemed to be a tavern on every corner."

"I bet that left quite the impression."

"Indeed it did. I had never seen such drunken carousing before. To be truthful, it was more than a little off-putting at first."

"Haha, if there's one thing in this world no fancy scholar'll ever know, it's whatever a group of drunks tries to set its mind to."

"In Bolderfall? Probably arson," Therion said.

"That poor geranium plant will never be the same, I fear."

"Speaking of Bolderfall," Tressa suddenly announced, turning her attention onto Therion. Therion barely perceptibly raised an eyebrow. "You'll never guess what Noa told me. Apparently, she's pen pals with someone from there. They exchange letters all the time about everything."

"Who's she trading letters with, now?" Alfyn asked.

"A woman named Cordelia Ravus."

Therion stilled.

"And when I say they write about everything, I mean, _everything_ ," Tressa said, eyes focused on Therion like crosshairs. "And apparently, she's met some mysterious, noble thief."

Therion occupied himself by turning his empty mug in his hands. "Huh. Imagine that," he said, and Ophilia could see traces of pink beginning to dust his face, faint enough to be mistaken as the result of alcohol — except that the blush was a new development, and the alcohol was not.

"A thief, huh?" Alfyn said, smiling. "She wouldn't happen to say what he looked like, now?"

"As a matter of fact, she did!" Tressa announced with a catlike grin. "She says he's a thief whose cloak is the deep purple of dusk, and his hair is as silvery and gloomy as fog."

Ophilia glanced at Therion, who just so happened to have silver hair and be wearing a purple cloak. Therion looked like he wished he was wearing anything else. Therion looked like he wished he was anywhere else.

"Gloomy as — as fog?" Alfyn guffawed.

"Oh my," Ophilia said. Part of her felt a pang of sympathy, but the other part of her felt a smile creep up her face. She quickly clasped her hands over her mouth. That was a fair compromise, surely.

"And then, there are his eyes, which are hard and beautiful like diamonds," Tressa continued, with relish. "He likes to put up a lone wolf front. But beneath it all, he's apparently a real softie at heart. A drifter, you know, waiting for the day someone is finally able to see him."

"Tressa," Therion warned her.

"What's wrong?" Tressa asked cheekily. "There's no reason for you to look so embarrassed. She could be talking about _anyone_. I'm sure there are lots of thieves with silvery hair like fog."

Therion seemed to disappear into his cloak.

Ophilia took pity on him. "Now, now, Tressa. I think that's enough."

"Oh, it's all in good fun!"

"It's all right, Ophilia," Therion said.

"You are certain?"

"Yeah. It's all in good fun," Therion announced, producing a piece of folded paper from the recesses of his purple-as-dusk cloak.

Tressa frowned. "Hey. What's that?"

Therion cleared his throat. He flicked his gaze down onto the paper. "'Dear Cordelia,'" he began, the tiniest of smiles starting to play at his lips. "'I hope you are well. It is your friend Noa from Grandport.'"

"Wha — did you steal that?"

"Of course not. I made my own copy."

"You _what_?"

"'I had the most wonderful encounter just the other day,'" Therion continued on, ignoring Tressa's increasingly flummoxed face. "Hm, let's see — oh, here it is. 'I had only just fallen when I heard a voice call for me, strong and clear like a windchime against the sea breeze.'"

Tressa began to wilt.

"'When I looked up, I saw a woman I had never seen before. Atop her head sat a merchant's hat. The feather attached to its brim fluttered in the breeze, and her boyishly short hair rustled and seemed to glow like copper in the sunlight.'"

Alfyn snorted into his empty mug.

"Ha ha ha, okay. We can stop now," Tressa chuckled self-consciously, face bright red and getting redder. "I think we all get the —"

"'Her eyes were silver, deep yet clear, and it seemed that countless experiences were hidden away in their depths, yet ready to burst free like —'"

"Nononono, stop, stop, stop!" Tressa demanded, lunging over the table for the letter. Therion effortlessly leaned back in his chair; Tressa missed entirely.

"'— swollen gray clouds threatening to bring rain. But most of all, I saw —'"

"Alfyn, make him stop!"

Alfyn failed to stifle a grin. "Sorry, Tress. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

"'— a smile, wide as the horizon, all at once happy and yet full of concern for a person she had yet to meet.'"

"Ophilia!"

"Er. Therion," Ophilia tried, unclasping her hands from around the smile that refused to budge from her face. "Perhaps you might consider Tressa's feelings on the matter?"

Therion paused. He examined Ophilia briefly. "Why do you think I'm reading it?"

Tressa pounded the table. "You —!"

"'She offered her hand to me and —'"

Tressa shot out of her chair, around the table, grabbing at the paper. Therion turned away from her so she couldn't reach.

"'— after a brief crisis of hesitation, I accepted it with a grateful heart.'"

Tressa bolted to Therion's other side; Therion evaded her by standing. Alfyn looked on with an amused grin; Ophilia was certain she looked the same.

"'Her hand was firm and warm as though kissed by the sun —'"

"You better give it!" Tressa growled, leaping for the paper. Therion raised the letter above his head, and therefore, far above Tressa's.

"'— and I was struck by how uninhibited and honest the gesture was,'" he continued on, entirely unbothered by Tressa's attempted maneuvers.

"If you don't, I'll —!"

"'I held fast to her hand as she raised me to my feet,'" Therion recited, "and — grk!"

Tressa kneed Therion in the groin. Therion bent in half.

Alfyn winced. "Cripes."

"Why can't you —" Tressa bit out, reaching out a hand, trying to claim the letter for herself.

"Y-you just —" Therion wheezed, swatting Tressa away, as best he could while doubled over.

"Ow! That's my face!" Tressa growled, and there was a sudden shift in weight — Ophilia couldn't tell by whom — and the pair of them tumbled onto the floor. Therion's chair skidded across the room.

"U-um, Tressa? Therion!" Ophilia cried out.

"Only fair after you —"

"You wouldn't give it —!"

"— no wonder she called you boyish —"

"— plenty ladylike!"

Ophilia looked helplessly at Alfyn. "Alfyn! Help me break them up!"

"Right!" Alfyn agreed. He leapt up from his chair, wobbled, reached for the table, wobbled again, and in the very next instant, Alfyn, the table, and six empty mugs of ale clattered onto the floor.

"Alfyn?"

From behind the table, Alfyn's voice groaned. "Egads."

"'Ey, what's goin' on over here?" a voice demanded, and Ophilia looked up to see half the tavern staring at them and a bouncer marching toward her. "Sister, these rubes giving ye trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she informed him, before whirling around and retrieving her staff from her belt and pointing it straight at the roiling cloud of fisticuffs. "Therion! Tressa! That is quite enough!"

The two of them froze, Tressa's hand still straining for the letter and Therion's hand still straining in the opposite direction. They stared up at her, wide-eyed.

"Both of you are better than this. Therion, you help Alfyn to his feet. Tressa, you're helping me clean this mess."

They scrambled to their feet. Therion darted behind the table to slide Alfyn upright; Tressa gathered the fallen mugs and then she and Ophilia together managed to right the toppled table.

"Now, Tressa. You know where the inn is?"

Tressa nodded meekly.

"Good. Make sure Therion gets Alfyn back safe," Ophilia declared, just as Therion managed to heft Alfyn to his feet, who was clearly leaning on Therion for support. Tressa nodded meekly again and immediately rushed to Alfyn's other side. Ophilia watched the three of them totter and stumble their way out the door.

Ophilia breathed a sigh. She turned to the bouncer. "All right. How much are the damages?"

The bouncer eyed her incredulously. "Sister, with a show like that, it's on the house."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I ain't never seen no drunks scurry quite so fast as that bunch just did! And from a sister of the cloth, no less!" he chortled. "Fact is, if you weren't a cleric of Lord Aelfric's Flame, I'd be a fool not to hire ye as a bouncer."

"I… I see."

The bouncer snorted and waved a hairy paw. "So don't ye worry 'bout it none. Jus' a small mess to mop up, and ain't nothin' broken besides."

"Very well, if you are certain," Ophilia acquiesced. She gave a light bow. "Many thanks for serving my friends and me. May the Flame guide your path."

The bouncer chortled again. "Ye bet. Put the fear of the gods in 'em, ye hear?"

Ophilia heard them before she saw them: first, Alfyn's unrestrained laughter, then Tressa's impish giggle, and finally Therion's low and self-assured chuckle.

"One would nearly think you hadn't learned your lesson," Ophilia told them with a gently chiding lilt of her own.

"Oh, no. We deserved that," Therion said.

" _You_ deserved that," Tressa corrected him.

Therion shrugged. "But Alfyn didn't deserve that."

"Alfyn didn't deserve that," Tressa agreed.

"Shucks. You're all real pals, ya know that?" Alfyn told them. He was walking on his own now (something about the cold night air, perhaps), but Therion and Tressa still stuck close to him; Therion on his left, Tressa on his right. "And Sister Ophilia — you're a real pal, too."

Ophilia shook her head. "I only regret not advising you against drinking that last mug of ale."

"Naw, ain't your fault. I usually hold my booze better. But I'm sure thankful ya were round to straighten us ragamuffins out."

"Therion deserved it," Tressa insisted.

"If she starts it, I'll finish it," Therion shrugged.

"By the Flame, will you two never learn?" Ophilia sighed. "You know, I never once imagined that the pilgrimage would entail resolving bar fights."

Tressa turned toward her, bouncing up and down on her feet even this late at night, her grin wide and earnest and shining even this late at night. "But you have to admit that was exciting!"

"Tress, I reckon you're the only one this side of the Inland Sea who'd've thunk that."

Tressa ignored him and beamed up at her. "And besides, Ophilia'll be around to set us straight. Right?"

Ophilia smiled back. "Of course."

* * *

All cities must sleep, even one as lively and populous as Grandport. And by the time that Ophilia returned to the inn, the streets had emptied themselves of people and the only sounds to be heard were of distant waves washing ashore.

Alfyn swung the door to the inn open wide. "Shucks, I'm bushed," he yawned, Ophilia and the others following after him.

"Verily, thou appearest so. Thou yawnest wider than Linde," H'aanit observed with a smile. Linde was curled up asleep on the floor beside her. Her ears flicked up for a moment at the mention of her name, before she resettled herself onto her cushion with a sleepy whine.

"Haha, six cold ones can do that to a guy."

"It seems I've missed out on all the fun," Primrose said, sitting on the couch next to her.

"You sure did!" Tressa exclaimed. "I thought the seafood was great in Rippletide, but I've never even heard of some of the fish they had in the market. And those crab croquettes they had at the tavern — they were really something else! Both of you really should've come with us."

Primrose laughed lightly. "Next time, then."

"Yeah, you bet! And then I can tell you all about how Therion —"

Therion cleared his throat. He slid his cloak aside to reveal the slightest sliver of paper.

"— did nothing at all, good night!" she blurted, and darted up the stairs and disappeared.

Linde opened her eyes and grumbled in annoyance. H'aanit looked at Ophilia, confused. "Is something amiss?"

"All is fine, do not worry," Ophilia reassured her.

"Hm," H'aanit said, unconvinced but willing to let the matter lie. Linde, on the other hand, was not content to lie, as she got to her paws and grumbled again, brushing up against H'aanit. Her tail flicked in front of H'aanit's face. "Though it seemeth that Linde doth not suffer the noise quite so well."

Linde yowled an agreement. Halfway through, it became a yawn. Her fangs gleamed.

"Lookit them teeth. I'd wager she's just as knackered as me."

"Rawr."

"Linde hath said that thou art incorrect. She is far more, er — 'knackered' — than thee."

Alfyn laughed. "What kinda man would I be to argue with a snow leopard?"

"A man most unwise, that is certain," H'aanit said. "Very well, we shalle also retiren for the night."

"Then I'm right behind ya, Linde. Lead the way." Alfyn ruffled Linde's head. Linde sat, and tried not to look too satisfied by the head scratches.

"Oh? But wert thou not tired?" H'aanit said through a smile. "How very spoilt thou art."

Linde whined in disappointment and shook Alfyn's hand off. She made her way up the stairs, clumsily, not quite knowing which paw to put in front of the other, but eventually making her way upstairs nonetheless.

"G'night, y'all," Alfyn called out from the top of the staircase.

"Yes. Linde and I will meeten you in the morn."

"I suppose I should head to bed as well," Primrose said, rising from the couch with a stretch. "Ophilia, will you be going upstairs, too?"

Ophilia shook her head. "There is some reading I would like to do before turning in for the night. But I shall be up shortly."

"Very well," Primrose said. She paused at the foot of the staircase, contemplative. "And I must thank you for your words earlier."

Ophilia shook her head. "You need not feel obligated. They were only words."

"They were not just words. They were your words, and your words are worth their weight in gold. Good night, Ophilia," Primrose said with a gentle smile, and glided up the staircase.

Therion approached the stairs before he, too, paused. "Hey. Check in on the good professor, would you."

Ophilia frowned. "Is he unwell?"

"He's well."

"Then…?"

Therion cracked a smile. "That's why someone should check on him."

Realization dawned. "Ah. Might you perhaps be better suited? You have known him longer than I."

"That's a laugh. You're better at this crap than me."

"You are certain?"

"Your words are worth their weight in gold," he shrugged, and with that, he vanished up the stairs.

Cyrus' room was at the very end of the hall on the first floor. The door was closed. Ophilia pressed her ear to the wood. She could hear nothing.

She rapped against the wood lightly. "Professor?" she called out.

No response.

"It is Ophilia. Are you there, Professor Albright?"

No response.

Ophilia hesitated. "I am coming in," she finally announced. The door swung slowly open with a creak, revealing a room thick with gloam. Atop a table to the right, a single candle flickered. Its weak glow was not enough for Ophilia to see much, and as she waited for her eyes to adjust, above the silence Ophilia could now hear a very faint _scritch scritch scritch_.

"Professor?" Ophilia repeated.

_Scritch scritch scritch_.

The darkness at last had faded enough for Ophilia to begin to see. With his back to her, Olberic slumped against the wall, head resting atop his hand, fast asleep. In front of him, a half-dozen books were strewn on the table, pages open. And shadowed by the candlelight, Cryus sat with an impressive pile of parchment, an equally impressive ink well, and a pen that went _scritch scritch scritch_.

Ophilia couldn't help but smile. "Professor, you know that it is late."

_Scritch scritch scritch_.

Ophilia began walking toward him. She stumbled and caught herself. She looked down. Stacks of books, sorted in piles by some incomprehensible arrangement, littered the floor. She sighed, and started to navigate her way through the book labyrinth. "Professor, your piles of books are liable to injure someone."

_Scritch_. A pause. Ophilia looked up in time to see Cyrus dip his pen into his ink well. He immediately resumed writing. _Scritch scritch_.

Ophilia finally made it to the desk. Olberic was indeed asleep, mouth parted slightly and chin pressed against his fist; and Cyrus was indeed writing away, eyes focused below him onto the pen dancing across the paper.

Ophilia moved to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Professor Albright, you must —"

Cyrus jumped. His chair scraped across the floor.

"Egads —!"

"Professor, it is only —"

"Who goes there?"

"Eep!"

Ophilia gasped. Olberic's sword pressed against her skin.

Ophilia stared at Cyrus. Ophilia stared at Olberic. Both of them stared at Ophilia.

Olberic pulled his sword away from her. The three of them exhaled a collective breath.

Olberic was the first to speak. "You have my sincere apologies, Sister Ophilia. From my slumber, I heard a shout, and — 'twas a reflex —"

Ophilia sighed. "It is all right, Sir Olberic. I am unharmed. The speed with which you wield your blade, even from sleep, is truly impressive."

Olberic smiled grimly. "An impressive talent paid for with the blood of men."

"You have my apologies as well," Cyrus said. "I did not intend to be startled so. Although, perhaps I might request that you call for me, instead of approaching with such swiftness."

"I did call for you, Professor Albright."

Cyrus somehow looked even more startled than before. "I-indeed?" he stammered.

"Several times."

"I — I see. Then it seems I owe you several additional apologies," Cyrus said. "My natural inclination towards fixation on my research has reared its head yet again, I fear."

"There is nothing shameful about research, Professor," Ophilia said. "However, perhaps you might keep an ear out for your name? Or consider taking a break every now and again."

"I have attempted to modulate my sessions in the past to little avail," Cyrus confessed. "I must redouble my efforts, it seems."

Ophilia glanced over at the sheafs of paper stacked atop the desk. "Pray tell, Professor. Have the books on Hornburg appealed to your interest?"

"Why, most certainly. The realm is fascinating — it is truly a tragedy for all academia that there is so little information left on the kingdom. And Sir Olberic has been most helpful in elucidating some of the finer points of study."

"Indeed?" Ophilia asked playfully. "From my position, it appeared that you were writing and he was sleeping."

"I was merely taking the time to consolidate my notes," Cyrus admitted. "There are a substantial number of additional queries I wish to make."

"And though I am but one man who knows little, I shall answer as best I can," Olberic said agreeably. However, even in the dim candlelight, Ophilia could see his eyelids begin to fall, then snap open again as he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"You need not be so obliging, Sir Olberic," Ophilia stepped in. "It is nearly midnight. Is it so urgent, Professor, that the conversation cannot be continued in the morning?"

Cyrus frowned down at his notes. "We have been making substantial progress. But perhaps… it would be more efficient to reacquaint myself with the knowledge I have already acquired, before pursuing new lines of inquiry."

"Then perchance you may release Sir Olberic from his captivity and permit him the chance to find some rest?" Ophilia suggested. Olberic glanced at her with a thinly concealed look of gratitude.

Cyrus contemplated the question. "Very well. I believe that to be the optimal course of action. You have my gratitude, Sir Olberic. This session has been most enlightening."

"I am ever at your service. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I shall do as Sister Ophilia suggests, and retire for the night. I am not as young as I once was," Olberic said with a self-deprecating smile, and eased himself from the chair.

"Pray be mindful of the books on the floor," Ophilia reminded him.

Olberic stopped. He looked down. "Indeed I shall. Good night, Sister Ophilia, Professor Albright."

Ophilia waited until he had left, the door easing shut behind him, before she turned to Cyrus. "And now it is your turn, Professor Albright."

"Hm?" he mused, already bent over the parchment in front of him, pen in hand. _Scritch scritch scritch_. "Oh, no. I cannot sleep yet. There is much I have yet to consider — I should like to collate my newfound knowledge of Hornburgian history by sovereign, and I must further research the spiritual significance of —"

Ophilia plucked the pen from his hands. Cyrus' hand continued moving on its own accord until, belatedly, he realized it was missing. He stopped and looked up at Ophilia with wondering eyes.

"Professor. Though you feign wakefulness, it is late, and you are tired. As with the body, the mind needs rest."

"I am gratified by your concern. However, I assure you that I am quite well-equipped to continue through the night."

Ophilia frowned. "And why do you feel the need to continue through the night?"

Cyrus paused. He stared down at the collection of papers and books piled atop his desk. Then, with a long sigh, he slid the piles of parchment to the side and rested his arms on the table. "Sister Ophilia, you are most astute. I confess that as of late, I have been rather… ill at ease."

Ophilia lowered herself into a chair. "Is this about _From the Far Reaches of Hell_? That matter has been resolved."

"So it would seem."

"You do not agree?"

Cyrus smiled ruefully. "In truth, I cannot say. And thus, the anxiety." He shook his head. "And it is not merely a matter of a misplaced tome. There is the theft of the dragonstones, and then there are the happenings at Wispermill, as you are well aware. It is all so very peculiar."

"Perhaps peculiar is all it is."

"Perhaps. There is nothing to indicate otherwise. However, one's instincts are not to be dismissed lightly. I cannot help but feel that there is something I have overlooked. Whatever it may be, I cannot shake the impression that it is of vital import." He returned to examining his books, as though one of them would divulge the answer. He flipped through page after page, eyes scanning their contents, barely illuminated in the candlelight. "I must find it. I fear the consequences should I fail."

Ophilia placed a hand on his shoulder. Cyrus shook himself, startled. He turned to her with wondering eyes.

"It may be that you are correct," Ophilia said. "And yet, you are still wrong."

Cyrus frowned. "Er — come again?"

"Perhaps there is a discovery to be made. I am in no position to argue with you on that. But you are wrong to think of it in terms of you alone. The question you ask affects all of us. You work yourself to exhaustion, when, even now, you have friends who wish to help you."

Cyrus looked away, into the gloom. "Knowledge is to be shared. Of this, I cannot be more certain." Cyrus paused. He clasped his hands, and looked away, fretfully, into the gloom. "And yet, it has been wonderful — to see everyone free of worry, free to enjoy all of Grandport. I fear that whatever I may discover will take that away."

"Have you not considered that by locking yourself in your room, you have accomplished the very thing you set out to avoid?"

Cyrus stared up at her, as though the thought had never occurred to him.

"Tressa and Alfyn asked after you at the tavern when you did not show. Olberic and H'aanit told me they were concerned for your health. Therion and Primrose perhaps say the least, but they see the most, and they have seen what we all have seen."

"…I could not have imagined."

"Cyrus," Ophilia said. "As Aelfric tells us, 'He who builds a bridge by night shall have only a pile of stone in the morning.' And so it is with all things. By the good graces of Aelfric, the sun will yet rise. Your books will still be here. And should you have need of us, so will we all. Pray remember that."

Cyrus sat silently. He stared at the candle as it flickered, nearly run out.

"Of course I would be so foolish. How could I have forgotten?" he said with a shake of his head and a light smile. "Thank you, Ophilia, for reminding me."

"Every now and again, we all need reminding."

"And perhaps this soul more often than most," Cyrus said. He slid his chair away from the table and stood. Ophilia joined him. "Now, my intransigence has needlessly kept you. You have convinced me to commit to a night of rest; might I submit that you do the same for yourself?"

"Advice well taken, Professor," Ophilia smiled, stepping over to the sliver of light that marked the doorway. "Sleep well."

Cyrus nodded, once. "Yes. I do believe I will."

* * *

"Well, aren't we bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning," Primrose said, just as Cyrus waltzed through the doorway, book tucked underneath his arm and cloak fluttering with every step.

Cyrus slid out a chair at the end of the table. He raised his eyebrows. "Hm? Am I truly so transparent?" he said, smiling all the while.

"Like ice," Therion muttered.

"Ice is not truly transparent, but rather translucent. Indeed, different —"

Therion abandoned his seat. "Hell, it's too early for this," he grumbled, already retreating upstairs. Tressa immediately snuck the bacon from his plate.

"Er. Was it something I said?"

"Begging your pardon, Professor Albright," Alfyn said, muffled by a mouthful of eggs and hash browns. He smiled apologetically; that, too, was muffled by a mouthful of eggs and hash browns. "But some of us just ain't ready for much learnin' before we drank our first cuppa coffee."

"Therion hath already drunk three."

"Therion just likes being a grump," Tressa declared, picking up one of the purloined strips of bacon and waving it in the air. Linde's head popped up from behind the table beside her. Her tongue flicked across her muzzle in anticipation.

"Yes, leave him be, Professor Albright," Ophilia said, the smile coming as naturally to her face as the sun rising above the horizon, and the gulls squawking along with it. Ophilia was reminded again of how very far she was from Flamesgrace. She could not have been happier for it.

Primrose poured Cyrus a glass of water. "So, do tell, Professor. What's gotten you in such a good mood?"

Cyrus blushed slightly. "It is a bit embarrassing, in all honesty."

"You can't just leave it at that," Tressa said, taking a bite of bacon. Linde looked on in not-at-all concealed disappointment. "You have to tell us now."

"Well, if you must know," Cyrus began, fiddling with the hem of his cloak. "It is only that I spent a truly pleasurable evening in the delightful company of Sister Ophilia."

The room went silent — except for Alfyn, who promptly choked on his breakfast.

Cyrus frowned. "Alfyn, are you all right?"

Alfyn nodded furiously, even as his body convulsed in a coughing fit and his face burned bright red. H'aanit gamely rapped him once on the back.

Primrose looked from Ophilia to Cyrus, Cyrus back to Ophilia. "Well, I certainly did not expect that. But I can see it."

Ophilia flushed. "No — it is not as you think —"

Cyrus looked to Ophilia. His frown deepened. "See what? I do not see anything. Sister Ophilia looks as beautiful as always."

Alfyn resumed coughing. H'aanit passed him a glass of water. Alfyn greedily downed it.

"Professor, you are making it worse," Ophilia groaned.

"What am I making worse?"

"What's he making worse?" Tressa demanded. "Primrose, what's everybody talking about?"

"Tressa," Primrose began, slowly. "Do you remember the second night we were in Stonegard? When we came across the man in the aristocratic district?"

"Well, yeah. He was…" Tressa trailed off. Her eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh! … _Oh_." Her food sat, forgotten. Linde immediately snuck the bacon from her plate.

Ophilia took a deep breath. "You are all suffering from mistaken assumptions. I only visited Professor Albright to pry him from his studies, and we talked a bit afterward. That is all Professor Albright meant to say," Ophilia told them, unable to help a frown. "We have all been acquainted for long enough that his meaning should have been clear, even if his choice of words was… unorthodox."

Cyrus looked from face to face in absolute bewilderment. "I fail to understand what Sister Ophilia means by unorthodox, but she otherwise has the right of it. Did I imply otherwise?"

"Verily so," H'aanit said, face pink with embarrassment on Ophilia's behalf.

"And how," Primrose murmured with a bemused smile.

"Good morning, everyone," Olberic announced from the doorway. He paused, glancing around the table, from Cyrus' puzzled gaze to Alfyn's beet-red face to Tressa's still-wide-open mouth. "…Am I interrupting something?"

"No, not in the least, Sir Olberic," Cyrus declared. "In fact, you have arrived at the perfect time to clarify matters. You see, everyone, last night, Sister Ophilia and I were joined by Sir Olberic."

Alfyn choked.

Ophilia buried her face in her hands. "O Aelfric, grant me strength."

**Author's Note:**

> You: but in ophilia's chapter three she clearly drinks wine so how can you —  
> Me: okay time for you to gO TO SLEEP NOW


End file.
